


Clear as a Bell

by charcoalcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anniversary, Bunker Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:25:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4825481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalcas/pseuds/charcoalcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's September 18th, an anniversary Dean and Castiel have never celebrated.  They've never really talked about that day either.  Castiel has also never gotten sick before.  It's a big day of firsts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clear as a Bell

Dean’s alarm rings at precisely midnight, his phone lighting up next to him on the couch where he’s been dozing in front of Goldeneye since ten thirty. Sam had taught him how to get a reminder to go off every few hours to make sure Cas was taking his medicine- a duty that had become Dean’s after the discovery that Cas had been silencing his phone in favor of sleep.

The bunker’s quiet as Dean makes his way across the frigid floor to the spare bedroom where he’s had Cas quarantined since Monday. New and improved Cas may be, having traded in his halo and trenchcoat back in June for nearsighted vision and a perplexing fashion taste, but he hadn’t been able to retain his angelic immunity. A night in Urgent Care had revealed that Castiel’s now human body had finally betrayed him.

“Chickenpox,” Dean huffs, knocking softly on Cas’ door. As expected, there’s no response. Cas is either still asleep or hoping Dean will keep walking.

Dean slips inside, a squint in the dark allowing him to just make out the shapeless lump on the bed he knows to be Cas. He’d insisted on the mass of blankets and quilts despite running a high fever; Dean hadn’t begrudged him this, being prone to nesting himself, and has found it’s rather satisfying to see Cas cuddled up in his swath of linens, as cuddling is a service he’s had to restrain himself from providing.

Nurse is a rewarding enough job to busy himself with anyway. Dean imagines the satisfaction he feels upon finally getting Cas to do basic “necessary for continuing to be an alive human” tasks, such as eating something more solid than jello or taking a shower, to be akin to what a cowboy might feel upon breaking in a wild stallion. Thanks to the alarm, it’s now time for one of those tasks; Dean settles himself on the mattress next to Cas and gently rubs a hand over where he thinks Cas’ shoulder might be beneath the blankets.

“Cas, it’s midnight. We gotta drug you up,” Dean whispers, smiling at the soft in and out of Cas’ snores. “Doctor’s orders, unless you want to keep suffering.”

Dean is either unheard or ignored, as usual, so he leans over Cas’ swaddled form and flicks on the bedside lamp. This earns him a reaction. The mess of hair that had been visible above the blankets disappears, sucked down in the cavernous blanket nest, accompanied by muffled grumbling.

“Either you come out on your own or the blankets are getting ripped off.”

There’s a moment’s pause as Cas probably wonders if Dean would actually be able to wrench the blankets from him, but he soon emerges, blinking and scowling in the light like an irritated prairie dog. He looks a mess - hair flat on one side where he’d been lying on it, face blotchy and pink, eye bags top tier. At least the blisters hadn’t made it past his chest.

Cas sniffles pathetically as he slowly drags himself up until he’s sitting up, propped against the half a dozen pillows he’d gathered from around the bunker to aide him in this time of need. He looks small like this, Dean thinks fondly, which is ridiculous considering how toned Cas has become since deciding the best way to work through his issues was by clocking in hours at the bunker’s gym, but still. Now all those muscles are blotchy and covered in pox, though Dean has at least had the privilege of getting to massage lotion into them for the past few days. Another perk of playing nurse, though truthfully Dean had appreciated feeling Cas actually relax for probably the first time ever more than copping a feel - though that had been nice too, obviously.

“Heya hot stuff,” Dean says, holding up the different bottles. Cas groans and scratches a hand over his hairy, polka dotted chest. “Who’s up to bat? Cough syrup, ibuprofen, or antihistamines?” Cas gestures weakly at the ibuprofen and Dean grins and shakes two out for him, passing them over with a water bottle.

Cas stares miserably down at the pills.

“I believe in you, buddy,” Dean says, trying to hide his amusement. It takes Cas two tries and a ton of water, but he gets the tiny pills down and holds out a palm for the antihistamines - only one of those, so there’s less of a struggle.

Absurdly, Castiel considers the cough syrup a reward and reclines back against the pillows as Dean pops the spoon into his mouth.

“You can’t handle swallowing pills but you like the taste of cough syrup.” Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Mmm,” Cas agrees, licking his lips and smoothing his blankets, his eyes bleary as they definitely check Dean out, the slow appraisal somehow still hot despite his sickly sheen of sweat and the pile of dirty kleenex between them on the bed. “The other night you seemed quite pleased with that quality of mine.”

Dean rolls his eyes and leans back over Cas to tuck the pills and water bottle back into the night stand, trying to ignore the curl of arousal low in his belly when he feels Cas’ warm breath against his neck. When he settles back, legs criss crossed and hands nervously fiddling with the pull string of his sweats, he’s dangerously close to chickening out. He takes a breath and goes for it.

“Hey uh,” Dean says, hoping he comes across as casual. Cas is watching him with all of his usual attentiveness, the asshole. “So, it’s after midnight, and it’s also, uh-”

“Happy anniversary,” Cas croaks.

Relief floods Dean as he laughs. “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Cas smiles and shrugs. He almost looks a little bashful. “I apologize for having the chickenpox. I would have liked to com-”

Dean cuts him off, worried now that Cas has been feeling guilty about this all week. “Don’t sweat it. Sam’s probably the most disappointed. He had a reservation for us at that ritzy Italian place in town.”

“You can go with Sam,” Cas suggests, painfully earnest. “Charlie can help me here if I need it. She’s eager to finish Enterprise with me anyway.”

“Nah.” Dean uncrosses his legs and settles on his side next to Cas, who politely turns his face away to cough, wiping the corners of his chapped mouth with the back of his hand as Dean continues. “It’s also National Cheeseburger Day, apparently, so I figured I’d break in that new grill and cook us up something here.”

“Mmmm. I love when you make burgers.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean props his face up on a hand to better see how Cas is smiling up at him, fondness making both of their eyes crinkle. “That’s what gets you going?”

Cas waggles his eyebrows and Dean can’t restrain himself anymore, not with Cas so warm and close and vulnerable and fucking adorable next to him, closing the few inches between them to press a kiss to Cas’ forehead, cooler now that the ibuprofen is kicking in.

They lie there for a while simply watching each other. As difficult as Cas’ transition to humanity as been, it has at least allowed them this - quiet moments together that are no longer stolen. They can be slow, can memorize the look and taste and feel of each other now without the worry that any time could be the last. They’re both here, their touches softer and gentler now that they do not have to hold on so tightly. With some roots down, they don’t have to be each other’s kite strings. Dean lifts a hand to brush the flop of hair against Cas’ forehead back and Cas leans into the touch, his shyness and insecurity about even such small physical affections lessening with each passing day.

Dean feels the words before Cas says them, can feel them swell in the air between them, settle warm between his ribs where his heart flutters and soul stirs.

“I love you, Dean.”

Castiel somehow manages to pour the sentiment into every word. Before Dean can return them, Cas confesses, “The first time I said those words to you I nearly destroyed a gas station.”

Dean thinks maybe this is Cas’ fever talking until it clicks. “Are you talking about - Illinois? That’s what you were saying?”

Cas nods against his pillows. “We had already bonded quite - intimately. I was presumptuous.”

The idea of Cas trying to tell Dean that he loved him and blowing up windows and getting stabbed in the chest is at once hilarious and heartbreaking.

“I was hopeful that you had retained those memories of our short time together, that you might be able to hear or perceive me on Earth too as a result.” Dean struggles to take this all in, mind reeling as he tries to recalls the details of that day. “It’s better that you couldn’t. I was already so... overwhelmed. I had never known anything like you.”

Dean laughs at that. “Same to you. You almost made me shit myself, a couple times actually.” He lifts a brow and grins. “So that little stunt in the barn - peacocking, huh? You’re blushing.”

“That’s the fever.”

“You were so hot for me.”

Cas sighs, mouth twisting into a wry grin. “Uriel nearly strangled me when I shared what I had tried to say to you.”

They both chuckle at that, falling into an easy silence as they think and remember. Cas’ eyes are slipping closed again when Dean finally speaks.

“I did get flashes,” he admits, gaze dropping to where Cas’ hands are curled over his blankets. Cas turns one so it’s palm up, an offering, and Dean takes it. “Light - bright light. Warmth. Comfort.” Cas makes a small sound next to him. “I didn’t realize that was you at first.”

“I have the same memories of you.”

Cas has that look in his eye when Dean looks up again, that one that makes Dean feel panicky with how dead serious and affectionate it is. He wonders why they’ve never talked about this before.

“I also remember uh, this... sound. That you too?”

Yawning, Cas nods. “I was singing.” At Dean’s surprise, Cas adds, “I had never experienced joy as ardently as when I cradled your soul in my grace. I was so proud to have been the one to find you, after fighting so hard to.”

“The righteous man,” Dean scoffs, still uneasy with the title, some of that old bitterness resurfacing. The taste of it is at least duller now. “I didn’t end up doing much saving for a savior.”

“You saved me.” 

There it is again, that look, that sincerity, boring into Dean when he looks up in genuine surprise. This time Dean hold’s Cas’ gaze, as if he can see reflected there whatever it is that Cas still manages to see in him. All he sees is a whole lot of blue and a hell of a lot of love - which, Dean’s sure, is what Cas would say is that thing he sees in Dean. It’s a realization that would have made Dean uncomfortable not too long ago; now he just feels grateful.

“Same to you,” Dean finally says. Cas’ hand briefly tightens over his own. “With the saving, I mean. And the, you know. Love.”

They both seem content to leave it there, at least for now. It’s late and Cas is nodding off again but Dean doesn’t want to go back to his own room tonight, even though this one is like a nightmarish petri dish of gross. He leans back over Cas to turn the light off and is removing his shirt when Cas shifts.

“I should text Claire in the morning,” Cas whispers, lifting his blankets to let Dean under. “Tomorrow is a good day for us, but for her...” Cas drops Dean’s hand to rub at his face and move closer, resting his head on his chest and curling around him, coughing weakly as he resettles. “She might not want to speak to me.”

Dean lifts an arm and wraps it around Cas, pulling him closer. He feels a soft kiss pressed onto his skin. He’s not sure what to say, that relationship still so convoluted and brittle. “You’ll figure it out Cas. But I bet she’d love to talk to you.”

Cas doesn’t answer, presumably lost in thought, so Dean waits a moment before adding, “I’d kiss you goodnight but there’s no way in hell I’m doing that. You’re probably all nasty and phlegmy.”

He feels Cas chuckle against him. “Perhaps in the morning.”

“Maybe after you brush your teeth.”

Cas’ answering sigh is so petulant that Dean can’t help but immediately break his own rule to push them both over so he can kiss him. It _is_ a little gross but it’s been days, really, and all the small happy sounds Cas is making against him are worth it.

They get curled up again eventually, the impromptu makeout session having depleted the last of Cas’ energy. He falls asleep fast, snoring in Dean’s ear, drool probably already puddling on Dean’s chest, but whatever. It’s perfect. He thinks if his soul could sing, it’d be doing that right now, just like Cas’ grace had all those years ago. It’s with this pleasant thought that Dean finally drifts off to sleep.

They’re woken in the morning by Charlie shooting them with a water gun and shrieking her well wishes as Sam laughs like a fucking child and informs them that a special anniversary breakfast will be ready soon. This time when Cas vanishes beneath his blankets, Dean joins him.

The next time Sam and Charlie break in, they scream for an entirely different reason.

**Author's Note:**

> Not really edited but I hoped you enjoyed regardless! Title ofc taken from 4.09.


End file.
